


The King's Dream

by Nicor_Fyrweorm



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Because of Reasons, Character Death, Gen, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Not Really Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags Contain Spoilers, Temporary Character Death, That Shattered Glass Story, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-12 07:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19224388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicor_Fyrweorm/pseuds/Nicor_Fyrweorm
Summary: "He's dreaming now, and what do you think he's dreaming about? Why, about you! And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be? You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream!" And in the end, Optimus thought, what is life but a dream? The answer was easy: A nightmare.





	1. Gone in a Blink

**Author's Note:**

> Migrated from FanFiction.Net.
> 
> The title of the story and the quote in the summary are from _Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There,_ by Lewis Carroll.
> 
> **Warnings for this chapter:** Character death, but nothing graphic.

It all starts with one of Wheeljack's inventions. 

No, actually, it starts with the Decepticons. 

Though the Decepticons are there because the humans announced the opening of the ‘new and most efficient dam’ worldwide. So, it would be better to say it starts with the humans. 

Yet again, if they hadn't crashed on Earth, they wouldn't even know what a human is, so— 

Alright, no. Stop. It all starts with a Decepticon raid to a new dam, and one of Wheeljack's inventions backfiring. 

There. 

However, that's when everything stops making sense. 

Optimus had taken his mechs to answer the distress call from the dam's workers, and they had engaged the Decepticons as soon as they got there. 

Wheeljack, who had been working on some kind of stun ray, had thrown him the weapon to use on their enemies, assuring him that _yes, this time it works, really!_

Optimus had aimed at Megatron, who was giving orders to Soundwave. Ratchet was cursing at the Prime’s back, and he saw Jazz bounce to his side from the corner of his optic to avoid some shooting. But he ignored it all, his attention on the weapon in his servos, and fired. 

And then, at the same time, three things happened. Starscream, diving from above, had shot his null-rays to disable the weird riffle in the Autobot's servos. Soundwave had tackled Megatron away from the ray while Jazz had tried to do the same with Optimus and the Seeker's shot. Ratchet had been sent into his leader's back due to a cluster bomb detonating too close. 

In the next nanoklik, an excruciating surge had ransacked Optimus’ frame, and his wasn't the only voice screaming in pain. 

He tumbled down, rocks, dirt, and metal denting and scratching his frame, until he stopped. 

It is only now that Optimus realizes the battle between Autobots and Decepticons happened in the plain next to the dam, not the structure itself. Now that he's recovered his senses enough to remember why he's lying faceplate down on a hard surface covered by broken metal parts, glass-metal shards, and a thick layer of rust dust. 

That battlefield was _on Earth._

Earth has dirt, soil, sand. 

Not rust dust. 

The only planet with rust dust and this amount of tiny debris is… 

_Cybertron? But… how?_

The sound of approaching engines quickly distracts him, but whatever was done to get him off Earth is still keeping Optimus immobile. 

Yet again, maybe Wheeljack's device did actually work, and he's been stunned as a side effect of it backfiring, or whatever. 

Even if that doesn't explain the Space Bridge thing. 

_Maybe I'm dreaming?_

Cybertronian do not dream, not in the human sense of the word. However, the defragging of the processor that happens during the recharge cycle can pull up memories for them to 'relive' in their 'sleep'. Sometimes, some of these memories mix with others or with thoughts, resulting in completely new and different scenarios, or perversions of previous events. 

This could very well be such a situation. He's most likely in the Repair Bay, with Ratchet ready to give him a lecture about the handling of weapons—which Ironhide will doubtlessly repeat once he's allowed to return to his duties—despite him already knowing it, but that Optimus will allow because it eases his friends' worries. 

And because Ironhide gets some kind of smug satisfaction out of that, he's sure. 

But, until then, Optimus is stuck in this memory, reliving it as if it was happening right now. 

Which means he can't move. 

Not that he _would_ move, not until he identifies whoever is approaching, so it works too. 

The engines stop, and the muted whirring of transformation fills the air. 

Somewhere far over his head. 

Right, he tumbled down to where he is now. So, most likely, the newcomers are up a hill, or something, and he's at the bottom. 

Optimus hopes he goes unnoticed. 

"Well, well. So, _this_ is what the energy spike was about." 

Or not. 

_Ironhide!_

Optimus wants to call his friend, but his frame is still unresponsive, even though he's starting to regain feeling. 

"You know what to do. And take Soundwave too, Master Prowl will like playing with that one's processor." 

That… is not Ironhide. 

The voice is his, and the accent, but those words… 

The mech Optimus knows would never say that. 

Plus… 

_Master **Prowl?!**_

Optimus' dactyls curl, but while his arms start to shiver, he can't yet move them. 

Transformation whirls, engine growls, metal clanging. By the time the Prime manages to sit up, the newcomers are gone. 

All but Ironhide. 

He can still hear him grumbling at the top of the hill. 

"Now, you two… Guess I'll have to drag you back and see what our dear Medics can dig from your processors. You look awfully like those traitors… I'm really going to enjoy ripping you to spare parts again," not-Ironhide purrs, and Optimus forces his legs to move so that he can start climbing. "Get back to activation, you slag-heaps! I don't have all orn!" he shouts, the words followed by a loud clang, and, a moment later, by a groan. "That's better." 

The Autobot leader pushes himself harder when he hears Jazz and Ratchet's voices, grumbling and moaning, as clinking indicates they're starting to move. 

"Ironhide? Where the Pit are we?" the Head of Spec Ops asks groggily, and Optimus finally reaches the top. 

The being standing in front of his mechs not only sounds like Ironhide, but also looks like him. 

If Ironhide's color scheme was mainly black instead of red. 

"Not back where we should, so get up. I can't carry you both to base," the unknown yet familiar Cybertronian grumbles, resting a servo on the large riffle resting on his hip. 

"Base? Where _are_ we?" Ratchet asks from where he's sitting on the ground, optics roaming over the ruins surrounding them, while Jazz gets to his pedes wobblingly. "Is this… _Cybertron?"_

Optimus finally gets a real look at not-Ironhide when the mech takes a step to the side to face the Medic. 

Autobot insignia in Decepticon purple, red optics and sadistic smirk. 

"That's not Ironhide!" Prime shouts, his frame refusing to let him do more than take a step closer, but Jazz's visor flashes, one servo twisting to get an Energon blade out of the tiny subspace pocket in his forearm plating— 

The black mech punches the saboteur under the bumper with the nozzle of his riffle, making the smaller mech double with a pained gasp— 

The silence after the shot is filled with the dripping of Energon bursting from broken lines and the crackling of an extinguishing spark. 

When not-Ironhide turns around to face whoever ratted him out, Jazz's gray frame falls to the ground without resistance. 

"Now, who dares spoil my fu— _Prime?!"_ the black mech shrieks, Energon-stained riffle almost falling from his servo as horror wipes out his angry snarl. 

Without wasting a nanoklik, and pulling out the Energon blade the saboteur managed to sink deep into his shoulder joint, not-Ironhide turns around, transforms, and drives away as fast as he can. 

And Optimus lets him. 

It isn’t just because he's barely able to walk normally, but because he can't tear his optics from the deactivated frame of his Third in Command. Ratchet kneels by Jazz’s side, but his servos are curled into tightly-clenched fists on his thighs. His faceplate is twisted by horror, disbelief and uselessness. 

"He's gone, Optimus. Jazz is gone," the Medic whispers, voice trembling even more than his frame. "That… That Ironhide deactivated him. He's _gone."_

The Prime can only nod, not trusting himself to speak as he finally looks away. 

Jazz is deactivated. Not-Ironhide has retreated, so hastily that he can no longer see any trace of him amidst the ruins of what once was Cybertron. 

Ratchet and Optimus are no longer on Earth. Or, judging by what he has seen and heard, in their own universe. 

"We have to move," he finally says, though he manages just a whisper instead of the strong voice he wanted. "They might come back, and we can't be here when they do." 

"They?" the Medic asks softly, though he stands up without more trouble than his shaking can account for. 

"I heard Ironhide order others to take Soundwave away." 

"Soundwave? The one we know, _our_ Soundwave?" 

It’s weird to call any Decepticon _theirs,_ but since it's obvious these Autobots _aren't,_ Optimus just nods when Ratchet turns to him. 

"I believe so. We have to get him back, to rescue him," he answers, and his optics once more drop to the lively mech now lying deactivated on the dirt. "We can't leave him in their servos." 

"Slagging right we can't. But we need a plan first. Resources, information. We don't even know where we are!" 

"I know who their leader is," he says, voice finally stronger, and Ratchet stiffens with his optics paling pleadingly. "You won't like it." 

"There's nothing I like about this place." 

"Ironhide said they served Master Prowl." 

"… Now I like it even less." 

Optimus takes another look around as Ratchet tries to put himself together, avoiding staring at his immediate surroundings and what is there, before turning to the Medic. 

"We need to move." 

"Yes. Yes, we… Alright." 

Slowly, Ratchet starts descending the hill, going for one of the clearest paths that will allow them to drive away. 

Just before following, Optimus kneels down and grabs the blue-stained Energon blade. 

"I'm sorry, my friend." 

Without another look back, the two Autobots get to ground level, transform, and drive. 

Their destination? 

Anywhere but here.


	2. Twisted Reflections

Soundwave has vague recollections of a dam, Lord Megatron, Prime, dust, and shooting. However, the events have become so common that it takes a while to place them and put together what happened. 

When he realizes the most likely conclusion is that he didn't manage to get out of the line of fire in time, Soundwave lets out an inaudible sigh. 

He must be in the Repair Bay. Though it's awfully quiet with only a soft hissing, like that of a blowtorch, echoing in his audials. 

Either there weren't many damaged mechs and the Constructicons are busy elsewhere, or he's been in stasis for long enough for the room to clear. 

Since the only way to know is to take a look around, Soundwave brings his visor online. 

And reboots it almost immediately. 

He's not in the _Victory's_ Repair Bay. Or the _Ark's,_ or even the brig. 

Although it _does_ look awfully like a cross between a lab and a prison, what with his being strapped to a vertical table in a barred room. 

Where is he? And what happened? 

A moment later, Soundwave tenses in fear. 

He can't feel his Cassettes. The bonds are inactive, mute due to the distance between the mechs. 

Which means that, while he still has no idea where, exactly, he is, he knows it isn't Earth. 

That doesn't make him feel better. 

Soundwave looks around once more, this time paying more attention to the details to try and see if he can identify his whereabouts and his captors. And feels unease pool in his spark chamber. 

It is in no way a telling sign, but what little furniture there is and the energy bars' mechanism are awfully familiar. 

Then, the door swishes open. 

Soundwave recognizes the mech that steps inside, standing tall and regal as if the whole universe was his to command. But, at the same time, he has no idea who he is. 

Average size, doorwings flared proudly, almost emotionless faceplate, and piercing optics. But that's where the similarities end. 

Because, according to the frame, Soundwave has a designation for the individual. However, the mostly black color scheme, with some white here and there, and gleaming electric blue chevron and detailing, doesn’t fit the designation he’s come up with. And neither does the touch of smugness in those eerie red optics. 

Plus, the Decepticon-purple Autobot insignia is plain _wrong._

The blowtorch stops hissing, pede-steps replacing the sound, just before a slightly smaller white and poisonous green mech with red visor walks into view, stopping respectfully in front of the newcomer with a deep bow. 

"Master Prowl, it is an honor to receive you." 

… Looks like the original designation wasn't erroneous after all. 

So, that can only mean the _mech_ isn't the right one. 

Ergo, Soundwave isn’t in the universe he knows anymore. 

"First Aid, how is my new tool?" not-Prowl asks, his voice low but menacing, and so cold that it could cut Cybertanium, instead of the calm and collected tone the Decepticon is used to. 

"I was finishing with the aesthetics, Master," the white and green not-Protectobot answers, gesturing to where he has come from – another 'cell', most likely. "I was awaiting your orders before bringing it online." 

And then, Soundwave finds himself staring into deep red optics, shining with all the unrestrained cruelty of a wickedly sharp processor. 

Slowly, not-Prowl smiles, and the Cassette Carrier can barely hide a scared shiver in time. 

"Consider such orders given. Bring it to me," the Praxian purrs, dark and malicious and sadistic, and Soundwave trembles and presses back against the surface he's hanging off of in an effort to get away, tugging on the unyielding restraints. 

The smile only widens. 

First Aid, or whoever he is, bows again before going back to where he came from. But not-Prowl doesn't move, staring at the Third in Command as if his optics could read his very processor. 

Which he _can't_ do, but Soundwave _can._

Without dropping his creeped-out act—which may not be fully acting—the Cassette Carrier focuses on the Cybertronian on the other side of the bars— 

And almost screams in horror at what he sees. 

So many deactivated, so many tortured, so many—is that _himself?_

Mostly white with some blue detailing and amber visor, but… that can be none other than Soundwave. 

After a reboot of his visor, the Cassette Carrier finds himself unable to keep a whimper at bay. 

The smile on not-Prowl's face has sharpened, darkened, and the glint in his red optics tells him that the Autobot _knows_ just what he has done. 

And that it had been part of his plan, whatever it may be, all along. 

New pede-steps, two sets this time, distract them both, though it takes the sight of the newcomers to make Soundwave look away from not-Prowl. 

"Starscream?!" the Decepticon chokes out, visor paling in dread and uncaring about the emotion in his voice, too freaked out by everything that's going on around him. 

First Aid seems startled, looking at the captive before turning his attention to the Seeker standing at his side, while the Praxian's smile widens in satisfaction and some sort of sick triumph. 

But the Flier doesn't react. 

The frame is exactly the same as he remembers, just as it is with the Autobots, but the color scheme is not. 

The optics are red, the Decepticon insignias on his wings are purple, the helm and faceplate are black, and the torso and pelvic armor are red. But his thighs, most of the wings, and the front of the foreleg armor are also red, while the blue of servos, forearms and pedes is darker. The rest of the plating is a dark silver instead of pristine white, and the cockpit’s canopy is tinted black and gleaming like obsidian. 

If those were the only changes, Soundwave wouldn't have minded. 

But they aren't. 

Prowl moves closer to the Seeker, steps silent and dangerously fluid, but Starscream stays still. He’s standing tall, at attention, and his optics are vacant, staring at nothing from a blank faceplate. 

A black clawed servo rises to softly, almost tenderly, grab the Flier's chin and tug it down, and the Cassette Carrier whimpers once more. 

Prowl looks immensely pleased. 

"Starscream, isn't it. Oh, the irony," the Praxian chuckles, tilting the Seeker’s helm to the sides to observe his blank expression attentively, like one does a new upgrade they're thinking about purchasing. "Prime would have given his whole army for this instant, yet it is me who has you finally in my grasp," he whispers, almost to himself, and the servo finally releases Starscream’s faceplate to caress the expanse of a mostly red wing with usually sheathed claws, stopping when they reach the Decepticon sigil. "What about these?" 

"They were already there when we retrieved it, Master. I suspected you would prefer them as they are instead of replacing them with the Autobot brand," the Medic answers, helm bowed in either respect or fear. 

"Indeed. Excellent job, First Aid." 

"Thank you, Mast—" 

"However," Prowl cuts, voice sharp and freezing, and the Protectobot flinches, tensing when red optics land on him. "Presuming to know how I think… tell me, First Aid, is that your function?" 

"N-No, Master! I-I would never—" First Aid stammers, fidgeting fearfully as the clawed servo leaves the Seeker's wing. "I-It was a stroke of luck." 

"Luck, you say?" Prowl hums, and only then does the Medic realize what he's said, tensing in horror with a flash of pale red from his visor. "I do not trust 'luck', First Aid. And yet, _perhaps_ you are right," he muses, the corners of his lips twitching menacingly, and First Aid starts to tremble, horrified, while Soundwave finds himself tensing in response, anticipation and dread growing in his chest. "Let's try this 'luck' of yours, shall we?" he adds taking a step back and clasping his servos behind him with an ominous smile. "Starscream, apprehend First Aid." 

It takes just half a nanoklik for the vacant red optics to focus with a flash of sharp red – and First Aid finds his arms crushed in Starscream's tight grip with a chocked cry. 

Soundwave can only watch in horror as the smaller mech jerks in a spark-deep reaction to the hold, trying to break free. But the Seeker doesn't even twitch, claws digging into white plating effortlessly while piercing red optics never stray from the prisoner's helm. 

After a nanoklik for the processor to catch up with the situation, First Aid stops struggling. 

Prowl smiles pleasantly in answer to the pleading look his underling gives him, and Soundwave shrinks back against his own restraints again. 

"Why, it seems luck is on your side this orn, First Aid. Its designation is, indeed, Starscream. However, I would suggest not tempting your good fortune anymore," Prowl comments, with his voice, calm and almost cheerful at the beginning, lowering to a dark and menacing whisper. 

Still trembling in the Seeker’s unyielding servos, First Aid can only give a deep nod, almost a tiny bow, in answer. 

A wave of a clawed black servo is all it takes for Starscream to release his captive, and his optics lose the sharpness to stare vacantly at nothing once more. 

"Get yourself repaired, First Aid, and take a break to refuel and recharge. Next orn will be a busy one," Prowl orders, though it sounds more like a suggestion despite no one being fooled, before turning to smirk tauntingly at Soundwave. "Come, Starscream. I have some glitch-mice for you to hunt." 

And, with the swish of a door opening and closing, they're gone. The Protectobot leaves his sight as he goes fix his pierced plating, and so Soundwave is left to shiver against the slab he's tied to. 

He has never been able to read Starscream's processor before. It works so fast that he can't make sense of anything, managing to catch only a hiss of static and waves of emotion those times he tries. 

This once, though, he hasn't been able because there was literally nothing to read. 

No static, no emotion. 

As the humans would say, the lights are on but nobody's home. 

Soundwave can only whimper as he tries not to think what they'll do to _him._

* * *

It is unsettling, how much this Cybertron is like their own. 

Not literally, of course. After all, Optimus can't remember _exactly_ what Iacon's ruins are like, but, still… 

Ratchet curses at his back, metal clanging as the exhausted Medic trips once more on some piece of debris that wasn't as buried as he thought, and the Prime barely catches him before he falls on his front. 

"We need to find some place to rest," Ratchet grumbles, straightening, but, unlike other times, he doesn’t even bother to dust his rust dust-splattered and scuffed plating, his darkened blue optics glaring at the ground. "We can't keep scurrying around without a clue of where we are going. It's been two orns, Optimus. We can't keep doing this." 

No, they can't. But as the Prime looks around, he finds himself unable to agree. 

Because they can't keep going like this, but there's nowhere to safely rest, and they haven't passed any since they left… that place. 

His spark pulses in pain and grief once more at the mere thought, but Optimus quickly vanquishes it. 

There will be time to grieve once they're back on Earth, or maybe once they get Soundwave, but it isn't now. 

So, instead of mourning the loss of a friend and excellent saboteur, Optimus tries to think just _what_ would his late Head of Special Operations do in their situation. 

_Make a refuge? Or maybe send a scout… but that would mean separating, and, despite not seeing anyone, we can't risk that… Perhaps—_

Something moves. 

Or so it had seemed, because, when he reboots his optics and focuses, Optimus finds there's nothing around besides gnarled metal and glass-metal shards. 

They're alone… or are they? 

It may be paranoia, lack of recharge and fuel, or maybe all of it, but Optimus can't get rid of the feeling they're being observed. 

Ratchet, staying quietly at his back, gives him an uneasy and slightly worried look when he turns to him. 

The Medic feels it too. 

Unnerved, with the tension and fear giving them the needed strength—or focus—they keep moving. 

At times, the sensation diminishes, as if they had various observers and one went away, or outright vanishes. But it always comes back. 

In silence, they keep moving. 

Until, after going around a 'bend' in the somewhat clearest path amidst ruin, the Autobots find themselves in front of a quite intact building. 

It is broken, with its walls cracked and the ceiling missing. It looks like it was a one floor small building to begin with, and thus wasn't as heavily damaged as the rest of the city. 

It feels awfully familiar. 

Didn't the Autobots have a base hidden in one such building, back in their Cybertron? 

Apparently, Ratchet thinks so too, because he steps forward with wariness but also a hint of hope. 

"Stop." 

They freeze at the growl, hearing soft clicks and whines of charging weapons. 

Slowly, they turn around. 

No one. 

Though, from the corner of his optics, Optimus thinks he can see movement. 

However, it's so little, barely more than twitching, so he can't be sure if it's even real. Who could move so stealthily and be—small enough to hide in such tiny shadows…? 

"Decepticon Cassettes," Optimus hisses, and feels Ratchet tense at his side. 

"Don't move," the voice orders once more, emotionless, almost inflectionless, like the Soundwave they know, and the Prime's servo freezes before it can do more than twitch towards the Energon blade hanging from his hip. 

Wait. _Wait._

The Autobots of this Cybertron are evil, crazed, and murderous. What if… 

Lifting one servo up to be level with his helm, palm facing forward in a symbol of surrender, Optimus slowly grabs the hilt of the blade with two dactyls—and lets it fall to the ground before carefully kicking it away. 

It takes a moment after his other servo is also up for Ratchet to realize just what he's doing and mimic him. 

And then, one of the shadows Optimus thought had moved steps forward. 

A humanoid Cassette with red faceplate, blue visor and red Decepticon insignia stares seriously at them. His gun barrel is glowing with charge, aimed at the Prime's helm. 

One shot from that, and he can most likely say goodbye to the world of the active. Taking into account there may be more mechs surrounding them, dodging this one hit from the Cassette will mean nothing. 

"I am not the Optimus Prime you know." 

As stony and emotionless as the Cassette seems, the flash of confusion and bewilderment and the slight lowering of his weapon are still visible. 

After seeing this universe's Ironhide, and his reaction to Optimus’ presence, the Prime feels confident in the veracity of his words. And it shows, in his voice and stance. Something the Decepticon picks up, because he's now clearly frowning, while his weapon’s barrel lowers further and further. 

But none of the Autobots reacts or puts down their servos. 

After a moment, the Cassette lets out a resigned sigh and diffuses the charge of his weapon, gesturing with a servo for the larger mechs to lower their arms. Gladly, they obey. 

Crumbling and scrapping make them look around, and Optimus finds himself surprised once more. 

He was right in his guess that there were more Decepticons around, but they're all Cassettes. The three of them, despite their humanoid variants, are Aerial Bestials, judging by the beak- and snout-shaped helms, and the talons adorning their pedes. 

The two bird-like ones are obviously Laserbeak and Buzzsaw, even if the Prime can't say who is who. One is pure golden, albeit covered in enough rust dust to camouflage him, and the other is white and red, also dirtied. The third, judging by the blue snout and large audial shells, is Ratbat. 

Which leaves Ravage and either Frenzy or Rumble unaccounted. 

Their serious expressions and piercing blue optics, yellow in Ratbat's case, are making the Autobots feel _really_ uncomfortable. 

Where's the boasting? The smirking? The mocking? 

"Get inside," the humanoid orders, still as emotionless as before, while gesturing to the structure they were heading to. 

Once more, the Autobots obey without the slightest noise or protest, Optimus trusting his instincts and Ratchet trusting Optimus’ judgement. 

One of the Fliers steps in front of them, fiddling with what look like metallic fragments of the caved in ceiling, before a large plate on the ground lifts to reveal a slightly sunken elevator. 

So, once more in response to a pointing dactyl, the Autobots get on it with Ratbat, the golden Flier, and the humanoid. When the lift has lowered enough to clear the mechs on it, the trapdoor shuts with the white and red Cassette still outside, most likely standing guard. 

The underground hidden base is… not what Optimus expected. 

Damaged, though not as much as the city topside, and barely used, if the rust dust and glitch-mice scurrying around mean anything. 

They follow the golden Flier, all too aware of the weapons the other two Cassettes behind them are aiming at their backs. Two levels down, using a different elevator, they finally see someone else. 

The mech is, again, a Cassette, and obviously a Bestial in bipedal mode. Despite the pure white and clear blue color scheme, there are more than enough clues as to his identity. The yellow optics, the rounded audial shells, and the tail are what helps Optimus recognize the mech giving them a tentative and mildly curious smile, from where he's standing at the entrance to what looks like a surveillance room, analyzing the newcomers. 

"Hi, I'm Ravage. Who are you? Because you look like… some mechs we knew, but you're obviously not them," the Cassette asks, shuffling where he stands as if he would be bouncing around if he had the will to do so. 

"We'll tell you later, Rav," Ratbat answers instead, none of the other three Decepticons stopping and thus not allowing the Autobots to do so either. 

Ravage looks disappointed and maybe a bit saddened, but, with a nod, he turns around and goes back to the screens. 

The rest of the walk is silent and uneventful, without meeting anyone else. And then, they enter a large room filled with a lot of humming machinery and large cables tied together, all bathed by the green light coming from— 

Optimus gasps in both surprise and horror, and hears Ratchet curse next to him, but neither of them can move or look away. 

There's a large tank full of the glowing green liquid almost at the end of the room, all the machines and cables connected to it, but inside… 

Inside, there are the ripped remnants of a mech, barely connected by frayed wires and dented linkages. Various cables drop from the top of the tube, attaching to what is left from the mech. Some tiny creatures with a lot of legs are scurrying inside, poking and scratching at the damaged mech as they… repair him? 

But that's not the worst, oh no. That honor belongs to the fact that, impossible as the very thought had seemed any other time before, Optimus _knows_ that mech. 

Even if he can't still believe this is him, that this is… 

“Megatron…” 

A gun whines as it charges up and the Prime freezes in place, only then realizing he took a step closer to the tank while lost in his disbelief. 

Ratbat and the unidentified Flier glare at him, though only the humanoid Cassette has his weapon on him, the golden one aiming at an equally shocked Ratchet, so Optimus moves back once more. 

The charge is dispersed with a sound not unlike a sigh, and the barrel lowers the smallest amount to not be as threatening anymore. 

The humanoid—the obvious leader of their group—nods, as if to himself, and turns to the screen he moved to sometime in-between. 

A click, and black vanishes to reveal— 

“Iacon?” Optimus whispers, staring at the whole and shiny buildings onscreen, streets filled with walking mechs conversing among themselves, others driving down the roads while Fliers whoosh overhead, and wonders _why._

“It's how we do it,” the humanoid Cassette answers, startling the Prime, who'd thought he'd gone unheard, as he types something in a smaller window that popped up at a new order. “How we communicate with him. Fortunately, Shockwave managed to put all of this together before the Autobots got him too, or else… well.” 

Another click, the window closing— 

And Optimus takes in a sharp intake at the sight of a purple and black mech stepping out of the throng. A smaller turquoise-detailed white one follows the first with a cheery wave and a big smile. 

He knows who they are, just like he knew the other Ironhide and the Decepticon Cassettes—kind of—as soon as he saw them. Those are the Optimus and Ratchet of this dimension. 

“What _is_ that?!” his Ratchet questions, stepping up to the real Prime's side, and, without looking away from the screen, the Decepticon crosses his arms. 

“A dream. _Megatron's_ dream. Like I said, we have no other way of communicating with him besides _this._ To modify details in his dream, to add things, and read how he reacts, what he does in his dream… and see how we can use it in the _here_ and _now.”_

To see from Megatron's point of view is a strange and otherworldly experience, but they can still easily recognize his hugging the two newcomers, as well as hear his happy welcoming words. 

Now, _that_ is surreal. 

The Cassette straightens and starts to type again— 

“Actually, we're in a bit of trouble,” dream-Optimus says, turning to stare at them – at _dream-Megatron_ in the optics. “We got a bit lost.” 

“Lost?” 

“Far from home.” 

“Far from our friends,” the real Optimus adds in what is barely more than a whisper, and, after a quick look at them, the humanoid Cassette makes the fake mech say so too. 

Dream-Megatron hums, the onscreen mechs moving towards one of the magnificent crystal gardens spread around the city. For some kliks, no answer is forthcoming. 

And then, he turns to the versions of the real Autobots, and the smile is easily heard in his voice. 

“Then, come. Rest. You can stay with me for as long as it takes us to find a way to help you get back where you belong.” 

Optimus turns to the remnants of the mech bobbing in the tank, startled despite himself. It sounded almost as if Megatron knows the dream-versions of Ratchet and himself aren't the mechs he is supposed to have known. 

But broken optics stay dark. 

A tired sigh from the Grounder Cassette grabs their attention again, only to see the screen go black with another click. 

“Well, there's not a lot left to the imagination, is it,” he muses to himself, before, after squaring his shoulders once more, finally turning around, as serious and immovable as Cybertanium. “My name's Frenzy, and these are my brothers, Buzzsaw and Ratbat. You met the rest of my siblings, Laserbeak and Ravage, when you came in,” he adds, voice and stance firm and strong, much like Optimus' Ironhide had done when he'd been but a fledgling Prime getting his first fighting lessons. “Now, as Megatron said, you can stay. _For a bit._ Rest, refuel, and we'll see what to do with you once that's been taken care of,” he orders them, and, after exchanging a look with Ratchet, Optimus agrees with a nod. 

Ratbat and Buzzsaw, guns no longer aimed at them, guide the two Autobots to a large and mostly empty room, equipped only with six dusty berths. Frenzy joins them a moment later with a couple cubes for their guests and strict orders not to move from there until they are picked up after some time to rest. 

Too tired to protest, and grateful for the safety of the abandoned and haunted refuge, despite their unlikely allies, Optimus and Ratchet acquiesce to the terms. 

And, finally, fall into the dreamless recharge of the exhausted.


	3. Arms Race

When he reboots, Optimus doesn't know where he is. 

Dusty and damaged room, the soft whirring—he remembers Chip and Sparkplug calling it 'snoring' between soft snickers, though they hadn't heard true Cybertronian snoring back then—of a recharging mech somewhere close, the square of light of an open door… 

And a really well-known humanoid Cassette staring at him with seriousness. 

The Prime almost jumps out of his armor, so quickly does he get off the berth, startling the recharging mech back to a sudden activation—Ratchet, judging by the voice he can hear cursing. It’s only when he reaches for his weapon that Optimus realizes it isn’t there. 

Optics paling in dread, he checks to see that he really is weaponless, and, when he turns back to the Cassette, he almost slaps his faceplate when he _finally_ notices the color scheme and the unimpressed expression. 

“Ah, Frenzy, I—” 

“Save it,” the Decepticon cuts, silencing Optimus' apology with the dryness of his voice rather than the order. “I'd've done the same,” he adds with a smirk that is _so much_ like their world's Frenzy that it practically _hurts._

They're not in their world, their _universe._

Here, the Autobots are the conquerors and destroyers. 

Though, the Prime wonders, not even _their_ Decepticons are this bad. 

Sure, they have their moments—both factions do, because, after all, Cybertron wasn't so badly damaged just by the actions of one side—but, still… 

Optimus shakes his helm, deleting those thoughts from his processor, and focuses back on Frenzy. 

Whatever the _else_ that is going on here is, giving him those 'bad vibes'—Primus, he misses Jazz _so much—,_ it's none of their business. 

They need to get Soundwave and find a way to return to their universe. 

… There's nothing _they_ can do here, no matter how much Optimus wants to help, how _responsible_ he feels for his doppelganger's actions. 

_So, focus on what you **can** do. _

“Come on,” Frenzy calls once Ratchet is up and aware of their situation, though still muttering words better not heard under his breath. “Let's find out what to do with you.” 

As expected, they go to Megatron. 

Being refueled and rested doesn't make the shock of _that_ sight any less spark-stopping. 

Primus. To see a mech so strong, so _invincible,_ reduced to barely more than _slag,_ trapped in his own processor, unable to communicate outside _dreams_ and wild guesses… 

It hurts. 

… To think he would appreciate the trash talks he exchanges in the middle of the battlefield with _his_ Megatron… 

Frenzy brings the main screen out of hibernation, immediately replacing the brief view of some kind of living room with the commands for the modifications as he types. Patiently and expectantly, Optimus and Ratchet wait. 

“Leaving so soon?” dream-Megatron questions a moment before the command screen is minimized to reveal the dream-Autobots standing next to a door. “You've found solution to your issues already?” 

And the Cassette turns to the Prime, waiting for his answer to input it. 

“Not really,” he finally says, and watches the screen angle as dream-Megatron tilts his helm. “But we'll figure something out. As much as we needed to stop and rest, sitting here after we're already recovered will do us no good. We must set out, if we want to get to the end of our journey.” 

Frenzy gives an almost approving nod and a hum as he finishes with the typing. A moment later, when Optimus’ dream counterpart repeats his words, dream-Megatron echoes the Cassette’s nod and hum. 

“Well said. Very well, let me help you one last time. Take some Energon for the road, and any other supplies you might need,” he tells them, the smile—pure, sincere, and isn't that _weird—_ easy to hear in his voice despite the slight static from the speakers. 

Turning to the door, Frenzy nods to Laserbeak and Buzzsaw, awaiting just inside after their unheard arrival, and, after a voiceless confirmation, the golden Flier leaves to do as their comatose leader bid. 

“Oh! And you should take something else too, regardless of what you were planning,” Megatron adds, attracting everyone's curious optics, as the screen changes to a different room, followed by some cupboards and drawers as pale gray servos rummage through them— “Aha! Here we go,” the Decepticon finally exclaims, clutching what looks like a pen in his grip that causes the Cassettes to tense and gasp in shock, before the screen returns with the dream-Autobots. “Take this pen too. I know it's not much, but I can assure you it's still working as well as the first day. It's my favorite. It has been for so long I cannot remember not having it. But… you need it more than I do now. Plus, it's insurance! You'll have to come back now, to return it, and tell me all about your journey. So. Come back.” 

And he hands it to dream-Optimus. 

Startled, shocked, and more than a bit confused, the real Prime turns to Frenzy, who, after a small lifetime of hesitation, inputs a command. 

Dream-Optimus takes the pen. 

“Thank you,” the fake mech whispers, and, silently, the real Optimus echoes the sentiment. 

He may not know what the 'pen' is supposed to be, or just how much it is truly worth, regardless of the words, but he _does_ appreciate the gesture. 

The screen bobs in a nod and, without another word, the dream-Autobots leave. 

Frenzy clicks the screen back to stasis— 

“Good luck, Optimus.” 

—and freezes, jerking back to the now hibernating systems, as if his dumbfounded expression could will the speakers to repeat those last crackled words. 

But they don't. 

“Optronix,” Laserbeak whispers, stepping up next to the confused Autobots. “Before Prime gained his title and changed his name to Optimus, he was called Optronix. He was a good friend of Megatron's then, but not after becoming Optimus. _Never_ after becoming Optimus,” he explains, shaking his helm softly, before looking at his brother with hesitation and badly-masked hope. “What does it mean, Frenzy?” 

“I don't know…” the other Cassette answers, almost too softly to be heard, before shaking himself back to seriousness, to the present. “We'll figure it out later. Now, we have orders to obey.” 

“Are you seriously going to give us your Megatron's favorite 'pen'?” Ratchet questions, practically gaping, and, once more donning the smirk that reminds Optimus so much of their own Frenzy, the Cassette walks past them without answering. 

Exchanging a look, the Autobots shrug and follow. 

But, feeling a tap on his leg, Optimus stops. 

Laserbeak is standing next to him, glaring at the ground as if arguing with himself. 

“I shouldn't. But, Megatron thinks you're trustworthy. Don't you dare betray that trust.” 

The Cassette looks up, delivering a scathing glare that makes Optimus tense and question if he shouldn't step away, before, with a twist of an arm— 

Jazz's dagger glints under the poor lighting, shocked gasps filling the silence. 

Kneeling almost reverently, the Prime carefully takes it back, clenching it in his grasp. 

“Hey! Keep up!” Frenzy calls from a bend in the corridor, and, standing up, the Autobots and Laserbeak hurry to catch up. 

They have a mech to rescue, and a world to go back to. 

* * *

Iacon is in ruins. That much hasn't changed. 

However, they don't seem as threatening now, as empty and hopeless and foreboding. Not after they were given rations, weapons, a map, and an objective. 

Ironically, the only remaining Golden Tower is their goal, where Prowl and his Autobots have their base and, in all likelihood, Soundwave kept prisoner. 

… Or so they hope. 

Ravage was pretty clear on what Autobots do to prisoners, before Ratbat noticed their sickened expressions and silenced his disturbingly cheerful brother. 

They didn't tell the Cassettes who, exactly, they were going to rescue, for obvious reasons. And Optimus is glad for it. 

He wouldn't have liked to put Frenzy's loyalty to his faction at war with that to his family. Even if this Soundwave is not the one from this universe. 

Still, now that the objective has been set and the two Autobots are on their way through the paths marked by the Cassettes, the Prime can't help but feel his unease grow every time the weapon on his back shifts as he walks. 

Megatron's dream pen turned out to be something _completely_ different in reality. And yet, it shouldn't have been as unexpected as it was, differences notwithstanding. 

Nevertheless, the fusion cannon _does_ feel heavier than it is. 

It's more squared than the weapon Optimus is familiar with, more gun and less bazooka. Still, the blue power source that can be seen through some slits on the sides is as equally strong as their Megatron's, at the very least. 

It's too much of a gift. 

Which is why Optimus is glad it's a _loan._

Still. 

It feels too heavy. 

“Should we stop?” Ratchet asks, making the Prime realize he's fallen behind when he looks up at his worried companion. 

“Ah, no. Sorry, I was lost in thought,” he answers, smiling under his facemask, and, after another look, the Medic nods— 

And freezes, optics paling in dread, before he throws himself under a collapsed building. 

Hearing the hum quickly filling the air, Optimus hurries to follow. 

The Cassettes gave them supplies and maps and information, yes, and that, fortunately, included knowing about their enemy and their troops. 

The Decepticons gained the upper hand in Optimus’ Cybertron thanks to, in no small amount, their aerial prowess, their Fliers. 

In this Cybertron, the great majority of Fliers were obliterated—successfully, unlike the Senate tried in theirs—in the very first movement of the war. 

Apparently, the Optimus Prime of this world had a personal grudge against them, and so specifically targeted both Vos and, surprisingly enough, Crystal City. Due to the peaceful state of Cybertron, many a Flier had made the luxurious city-state its home. 

Unfortunately, it didn't work out for them. 

Some survived and joined the Decepticons, of course, but, for those, Prowl had something special planned. 

Reprogramming. 

It was using those same Seekers that Prowl overthrew the Prime, and took his place as the leader of the Autobots. 

Fortunately, the very same Energon shortage that sent them to Earth in their universe has forced their counterparts—or, at least, those still functioning—to enter a rationing system not unlike the one Shockwave undertook, forcing troops into stasis until the resources increased once more to be able to sustain them all. 

This doesn't mean there aren't some mechs still online. 

Like not-Ironhide. 

Or some of Prowl's Seeker-drones. 

And that's what they're faced with now, one of those very same sentinels patrolling the area, shooting through the starry sky like an arrow of silver and red at speeds too high to distinguish much more. 

… Maybe it's a messenger instead? It doesn't make sense to call it a guard when it can't see anything at the spee— 

With the explosion of a broken sound barrier, the Seeker swerves in place, nosecone lowering to point directly at the hiding Autobots. 

_Oh, slag._

Wing-cannons whir to activation, audible even at the height the Seeker is at, and Optimus _moves._ He’s practically dragging Ratchet for the first nanokliks, before they get enough traction under their pedes to break out into the fastest run they're capable of, moving further and further under the debris, away from the sky— 

With the sound of a shot, the 'corridor' collapses in front of them, stopping them in their tracks and blinding them with the cloud of rust dust that rises from the remains. 

Turbines whine closer and, still mostly unable to see, Ratchet is the one to steer the Prime this time, pushing him to the ground so they can crawl through a small—but still big enough—opening, away from their hunter— 

Who, with a burst of speed, is suddenly hovering in front of them, blocking the tunnel that would have been their exit, turning to face them— 

Or, actually, make that 'turning' be less about facing its prey and more about knocking them back on their afts with a slash of sharpened wings that dents Optimus' facemask and cuts Ratchet's cheek open. 

Slightly stunned, the Prime only reacts to the threat when he hears the whirrs of transformation. 

_Oh, slag._

Springing up while swinging his fist, Optimus feels relieved when he hits metal— 

And immediately regrets it when sharp claws pierce through his unprotected elbow joint. It manages to sever tensile cables and at the very least, nick some Energon lines, judging by the pink liquid dripping down his arm when he jerks it away from the Seeker. 

But the Autobad, as Ravage called them, doesn't give up that easily, lunging after the Prime and swinging its claws once more to dent the facemask _again—_ Optimus doesn't want to think what would happen if it wasn't there, because, _ow—_ and forcing him back— 

And into a wall. 

_Oh, slag._

Optics pale, Optimus quickly lifts his arms—as much as the injured one will move—to cross them in front of himself, to _shield_ his chest and helm— 

A gun goes off, and the Seeker is blown back into the collapsed corridor, kicking up a cloud of rust dust once more. 

Not taking the gun away from where their hunter vanished, Ratchet stands up. 

“Get that rusty aft moving, Prime!” 

Optimus obeys. 

They're outside, rushing to another semi-dilapidated building that should _hopefully_ help hide them this time, when the previous one _explodes._

From amidst the debris and the dust blocking the starlight, a dark winged silhouette meets the Autobots anxious gazes with bright red optics. 

They run. 

The Seeker follows. 

Of course, there's no competition between running and flying, and so it catches them in a moment, aiming for Ratchet and his gun this time. 

So, Optimus fires _his_ instead. 

Unlike before, the Seeker is harder to hit this once, being airborne, so the shot misses. Nevertheless, it accomplishes its objective in forcing it away from the Medic. 

Unfortunately, that's when the Flier transforms and makes for the open skies again, cannons whining with charge. 

After that, all thought deserts the Autobots, forced to run, jump, and seek refuge under overhangs and in openings in the ruins. The Autobad follow tirelessly, never losing them for long, shooting at them and easily maneuvering around the few buildings still standing. 

It takes all their power, all their quick thinking—instincts, at this point, and, _frag,_ it was never this hard before, back in their Cybertron, in their universe, with their Seekers and… and the other Autobots, so, okay, that may be it—to stay away, to stay safe— 

Ratchet trips, and the Flier rounds on him like a Xtrika does shed Energon – which is _not_ a good comparison. The Xtrikan of their Cybertron, at least, are scary enough with their four legs ended in sharp talons, four wings, and the long golden beak at the end of their elongated neck, which they slither under plating to get to the damaged line and suck the Energon practically out of the mech's lines. 

… Optimus _really_ does _not_ need to be thinking about Xtrikan when there's an unstoppable _Flier_ after their Energon, slag it all! 

But the point is there’s no other fitting comparison, and Ratchet can see it just as clearly as he fumbles for his gun. Optimus aches for his, he can’t let his friend face down this creature unarmed, and realizes his is no longer functional – the barrel is crushed, likely thanks to all the falling and crashing he’s been doing in their rushed escape. He still has Jazz’s blade, but he won’t get to Ratchet in time, he needs a long-range weapon, there's nothing he can do without a— 

He _does_ have a long-range weapon. 

Swiftly, he reaches for the fusion cannon, pulls it up just as the Seeker transforms practically atop the fallen Medic— 

As soon as he aims it in its general direction, the Flier jerks away, clearly having recognized the weapon. 

Problem is, _it doesn't stay away._

Using its evasive maneuver to avoid losing speed, the Autobad comes at Prime at an angle, slams into him, slashes his servo practically off the arm – and takes the fusion cannon away. 

“ _No!”_

It's too late. The Seeker is hovering out of reach, close to a building to use as shield should they try to shoot it down—and how a drone can plan so precisely, Optimus doesn't know—and admiring the weapon now in its Energon-stained talons. 

The precautions are unnecessary, though. As soon as the Prime sets his optics on it, he immediately raises a servo to keep a recovered Ratchet from firing his own gun. 

Silver, red, some hints of dark blue, black helm and black cockpit… and, on the wings, Decepticon insignias painted purple. 

Purple. 

Like _their_ Decepticons. 

After that realization comes the one that he _does_ know _this_ Seeker. 

“Starscream?” he gasps, voice coming barely loud enough that Ratchet does a doubletake, before Optimus takes a step forward, closer to their 'hunter'. “ _Starscream?!”_

The Seeker turns to them, and the Prime _fears._

That is _not_ the Decepticon Second in Command, the dangerous, boisterous, arrogant, and treacherous mech they know. 

That is a mech no more. 

“They reprogrammed him…” Ratchet whispers, words trembling and servos tightening on the gun with a soft creak. “Oh, Primus…” 

The Seeker doesn't look away, doesn't even twitch. But, if that is—or, as is the case, _was—_ Starscream… 

Optimus reaches towards his hip just as the Seeker rushes at them. 

And Jazz's dagger cuts through plating and cabling with the expected ease of the weapon of the Head of Special Operations. Especially when aided by the speed at which blade and target collide. 

The Prime gets up from the roll the impact sent him into as fast as he's able, and, to his growing dread-slash-hope, the Flier doesn't follow as quickly as before. 

When it looks up, he finds out why with the sudden urge to empty his tanks and cut his servos off. 

The Seeker's faceplate is slashed right through, almost perpendicularly, with the lower jaw cut in two, the pieces hanging lifelessly in a grotesque mimicry of mandibles. One optic has gone black while the other flickers dangerously, the helm-ridge looks ripped rather than cut, and there’s a dangerous amount of blue Energon bathing the chest plates from the nicked tubes on the neck. 

The Flier stumbles back to its pedes, lifts the servo not carrying the fusion cannon to wrap around the neck to avoid more Energon-loss, crouches— 

And flies away, soon lost amidst the broken buildings and the dark sky. 

The fusion cannon is gone. 

Starscream is gone, even if they hadn't known he was here in the first place. 

… The element of surprise is gone. 

Optimus falls onto his aft, feeling exhaustion closing in. Ratchet shakes in place, muttering under his breath, before he kneels by the Prime’s side. 

_… Oh, slag._


	4. Hitting Rock Bottom

When Soundwave first realized where he was, and with whom, and what kind of situation he had landed into, he expected bad, bad, and _worse._

Not even his worst expectations could match _this._

What they've done, the torture he's been subjected to… 

Because, that's the crux of the matter. 

They've _left Soundwave alone._

Tied to the tilted berth, with an Energon drip that First Aid changes when it empties, in the cell he awoke in the first time. 

He hasn't seen 'Prowl' since they 'met', and the Medic just the one time he came to replace the drip. 

Or Starscream. 

They've just left him alone. 

And _that_ is far worse than anything they could've done to him. The _expectation_ is what is eating at him now, the 'what-ifs' and 'when' and 'maybes' and all else. 

But, worst of all, it's the hope that is corroding him from the inside out. Hope that this is nothing more than a dream. Hope that _someone_ will come for him. Hope that Megatron won't leave him here, wherever here is. 

Hope will be the death of him, and the Autobots _know it._

That's why Soundwave's alone, with only his thoughts for company. 

It doesn't help that his chronometer is totally out of whack, the lights have been on ever since he rebooted, and he hasn't had the chance to recharge. 

Still. 

It _will_ be the hope that does him in. 

It shouldn't, of course it shouldn't, Soundwave spent _a fragging lifetime_ serving the Senate as nothing more than a glorified drone, for frag's sake. He should be _used_ to being left to his lonesome, or, at the very least, he should be able to withstand it better, so _why?_

… He suspects something in the Energon drip, truth be told. 

But… Well, he can't move. 

So, even if he's right about this, there's nothing he can do about it. 

That only makes it so much harder to _stop hoping._

Because, now more than ever, Soundwave needs _help._

That's why he straightens with a gasp when the door opens, and why he presses back against the lifted berth with a muted whimper when a black mech that looks too much like Ironhide enters the brig. 

Red optics meet red visor, and a sadistic smirk slowly splits the not-Autobot's faceplate. 

And hope finally dies. 

* * *

This world is bizarre enough without a broken visor to add to it, but it isn't like Soundwave has much say on the matter. Especially not when he's dragged onto a properly laid berth by the same mech that bent and cracked most, if not all, of his armor and struts. 

In fact, the Decepticon has _never_ felt as damaged as this very moment before. 

Ironhide's smug pleasure says quite clearly that it was deliberate. 

“Get better soon, _Con._ I've still got a lot more things I want to _share_ with you,” the Autobot purrs, patting an indented shoulder guard in an amiable gesture that sends daggers of fire all through the arm and surrounding chest area. 

Soundwave can’t stop himself from wincing, despite the missing facemask that was thrown away in a corner during the ‘interrogation’, bundled up like a discarded paper ball. 

With those last words, Ironhide leaves. 

For a moment, the Cassette Carrier can do no more than gasp as he tries to will his fans back into working as they should, without stuttering and gurgling with the Energon that is slowly pooling in their chambers. 

Then, he realizes he's alone. 

And untied. 

But, as soon as that thought crosses his processor, he realizes it's useless. Soundwave's too damaged to even get off this table without help. 

His spark sputters painfully, but Ironhide was too precise for that to be a result of physical damage. 

No, this feeling is something Soundwave knows well. 

Impotence. 

To have the chance in front of him, in his reach, and be unable to take it. 

… No. Never again. 

With a mighty effort, Soundwave turns on his side, spitting the Energon that suddenly fills his mouth with a snarl. 

No, he won’t let himself be chained down like a good puppet ever again. 

He shifts his legs, tries to position them so that he lands on his pedes when he rolls off the berth— 

With a chocked cry, the berth vanishes under him, knees bending as he hits the ground— 

Something catches him, holding him hunched on his kneeling position, but having spared him a really painful reunion between his faceplate and the floor. 

“Look at you,” Prowl's voice purrs, making Soundwave tense and try to lift his helm to see where the Autobot is exactly, because it's obvious from the direction the sound comes from that he’s not whoever's holding him up. “All silent, meek, and _weak,_ it looked like. And yet, you managed to not only endure the solitary, but also to stay online all through Ironhide's loving ministrations and _still_ try to escape afterwards. I have to admit I'm impressed. You must have bearings of chrome steel,” the Praxian muses, footsteps betraying his approaching position. 

Channeling all his fear-fueled ire, Soundwave finally lifts his helm to deliver as hateful a glare as he can. 

What little is visible of Prowl past a purple-branded silver wing is disturbingly _amused._

Wait. 

That's not an Autobot brand. 

Soundwave tilts his helm further, ignoring the Autobot for a moment as he tries to catch his holder's gaze— 

And, as the mech pushes back in answer to his twisting, he finally realizes why his back felt so wet all of a sudden. Starscream's faceplate is _split in two._

He chokes a dismayed cry back at the sight, but, obviously, the Praxian hears it, for he lets out a theatrical sigh in answer to it. 

“Ah, so you agree with my opinion about what those irksome Decepticons did to my newest pet. I must admit, the look the 'mandibles' would give it is quite tempting to keep, a far more disturbing and fearsome appearance to give to my birds of prey. But I can't decide whether the split faceplate would be adding or detracting from it,” Prowl once more prattles on, and, while Soundwave keeps an audial on him for the sake of self-preservation, he still has his attention on his fellow Decepticon. 

With a grinding of gears, he reaches for Starscream’s neck, to try and hold leaking lines closed until the Autobot stops yammering about his 'tools' to actually get First Aid here to _fix this—_

With a snarl of static and crackles, the Seeker wraps talon-like dactyls around the Cassette Carrier's neck and slams him into a wall with the first pained scream Soundwave's let out since this whole otherworldly misadventure began. 

“ _Hold it!”_ Prowl snarls, and, obedient as a drone, Starscream freezes, a gesture that makes the Praxian smirk dangerously once more. “Ah, got to love the self-defense protocols on this one. It would have been so much better if all the others had had them too… Seekers are hard to find these orns… Then again, so are Decepticons,” the Autobot purrs, approaching them once more with predatory steps. “And, talking about Decepticons… I have a task for you.” 

Soundwave hesitates, unsure whether he should try and see what is running through Prowl's processor as the Doorwinger walks away while calling First Aid down to the repair bay through the comm. In the end, self-preservation wins once more, so he reaches for the Autobot’s field— 

And hears nothing. 

Prowl turns just enough to give him a knowing deranged look and smirk, and Soundwave's hopes fall once more. 

The drugs. In solitary. It has to be it, that has to be why… 

Now, the question is, what _else_ have they done? 

And what are they _going to do?_

* * *

They've tied him up again. 

Sealed all ruptured lines, made sure nothing vital was seriously damaged, and dragged him out of the repair bay to tie him up again. 

To a pole. 

In the middle of the square right in front of the fragging _Golden Tower_ they were holding him captive in. 

The irony is _not_ appreciated. 

Then again, it isn't like Soundwave fancies being _bait_ any more. 

In his Cybertron, he was a captive of the Golden Towers and the Senate and Nobles up until he joined the Decepticons. 

In _this_ Cybertron, he has once more been locked in those formerly luxurious buildings until Prowl decreed he was to join this world's Decepticons… as the being that will bring their downfall. 

Oh, he won't be doing that personally, Ironhide will do that for him. But being _bait…_

That's almost as bad. 

First Aid was working on Starscream when Soundwave was taken away, and then Prowl had another 'pet project' for the Medic, so he's pretty sure he won't be seeing any of them in a while. But, still… 

There's no consolation in that. 

The only thing that does lift his spirits is the comment Prowl had let slip, about the Decepticons being scarce these orns. 

He hopes that means no one will come, even if a treacherous part of his processor wants the opposite thing. 

Against all logic, Soundwave still hopes for a rescue. 

Megatron could do it. _His_ Megatron, at the very least, if he could manage to track him down, likely with Shockwave's help. And, Pit, doesn't he want _that_ too, because Shockwave is, possibly, the scariest of all Decepticons back in Soundwave's Cybertron. 

But the part of his processor that actually _thinks_ does no more than remind him that landing here was an unfortunate mistake that no one could hope to replicate. 

And yet, he still _hopes._

_Oh, well,_ he muses with a sigh as he slumps in his bonds. _At least no Decepticon would be stupid enough to fall into such an obvious trap._

Pebbles roll and Soundwave jerks his helm up to see that he was right. The two mechs staring at him in surprise and worry from a not-at-all hidden spot are Autobots. 

_His_ Autobots—and isn't it _weird_ to refer to them as such. They’re easily identified by their correct color schemes and the red of their insignias. 

Prime and his Medic. 

Optimus and Ratchet. 

_How did they…?_

Before he can finish pondering about _how_ and _why_ and _rescue?,_ they move, the Medic rushing to him while darting quick glances at the same sky that his leader is aiming at with a battered but, one can only hope, still functional gun. 

It's not the sky they should be looking at. 

Soundwave opens his mouth before remembering they deactivated his voice box, but it's too late. 

Calmly stepping out of the camouflaged refuge he had been hiding in, Ironhide lifts his weapon and shoots. 

And the Medic falls to the ground with a smoking hole in his chest and his color scheme going gray. 

Prime whirls around while lifting his own gun, but the black Autobot is faster— 

And fails, because Optimus tripped. 

Of all things. 

_Tripped._

Fumbled for the gun that the quick movement had made slip from servos covered in cuts and slashes, and stumbled on the debris covering the square. 

Still, it isn’t the strangest thing the lucky Autobots have gotten off with, and it gives them—Prime and Soundwave both—the chance to counterattack as Ironhide curses and aims again— 

And gets his weapon blown off, alongside the servo holding it, by Optimus' shot. 

Not that it matters much, because, with a roar, he slips a smaller gun out from subspace, and the shooting begins anew. 

Soundwave loses sight of them in the ensuing scuffle, as they go around and around his pole, miraculously avoiding any stray shots, until the guns run out of ammunition and they resort to a fist fight that— 

Prime roars, a loud clang of metal against metal, a dull yet too audible thud of a heavy body sent into a rust dust-covered surface— 

With a strut-shaking rumble, silence finally dawns. 

As soon as the bonds weaken, the Decepticon struggles out of them and stumbles away from the pole, turning just before he loses his balance to fall on his aft – and stares up at a dented, dirtied, and tired Prime's pained blue optics. 

“Are you alright?” the Autobot questions softly and, slumping once more and looking at the settling dust around some large slabs of a dilapidated building, Soundwave nods once before, after a nanoklik, shaking his helm in a negative. “I understand.” 

They stay silent for a moment after that, with the Cassette Carrier looks around as he tries to put together just _what_ has happened, before Prime's shifting attracts his attention. 

“They won't let us walk away this easily, will they,” the Autobot questions without actually doing so, and Soundwave shakes his helm. “So, shall we take the fight to them?” 

And the Decepticon looks up – and does a doubletake at the different yet clearly recognizable fusion cannon in Optimus' servos. 

Unable to speak, he can only gape for a moment and point at the weapon. With an unseen smile, the Prime pats it fondly. 

“This world's Megatron thought it best if we took it, so they gave it to us. We were given an old and broken-down model too, to distract the Autobads, but it got taken from us on the way here,” he explains, and, after a moment to process that, Soundwave snorts soundlessly. 

Oh, Prowl's face is going to be _priceless._


	5. Might Have Been

It may not be their Golden Tower, but Soundwave knows it enough to guide them efficiently to the most logical location for Prowl's command center. 

Limping and straining to keep on, sometimes, but he does. 

Optimus, against all he ever thought he'd do, finds himself worried about the Decepticon. 

He was obviously beaten, probably to get information from him— _tortured,_ his processor keeps repeating, and a voice that sounds too much like Ratchet's snarls in fearsome anger at the mere thought—and forcibly muted, as explained by a question answered by gesturing to his useless voice box. But, what the Prime fears more than anything, is whatever they may have done _to his processor._

Because, it doesn't matter what he thinks, or how 'loud' he tries to make his thoughts, Soundwave doesn't even twitch. And—it may be the lack of facemask speaking—seeing how emotional he is now, that says louder than words that it isn't that he's ignoring the Autobot, but that he _can't hear._

What else could they have done, if they got access to Soundwave's most powerful weapon, to his _processor?_

So, Optimus watches him, worried – for Soundwave _and_ for himself. 

He's lost two mechs already. He won't lose a third, regardless of his original faction – or be backstabbed by yet _another_ traitor, disguised or reprogrammed. 

… Primus, _if only_ he could be sure… 

But, he can't. So, for now, he'll trust his instincts and follow his slow but stubborn guide through the dusty and badly maintained servant tunnels he never knew the Golden Towers had been built with. 

He hopes that their neglected state is a sign this Cybertron's Prowl doesn't know about them either. No matter how much his processor keeps reminding him that _their_ Prowl _did_ work for Sentinel Prime in these very Towers, and how _he_ would never leave _anything_ to chance. 

This Cybertron is different. 

He has to bet on that. 

And, if it turns out to be wrong… At least he still has Jazz's dagger and Ratchet's gun. 

He should probably give one to Soundwave, but… For starters, he doesn't fully trust him, and it's _not_ due to his being a Decepticon. And, besides… Well, he hasn't seen him use one of his arms, and the other is busy keeping him upright as he pushes against the walls. 

… Slag. 

Please, _please,_ let it _not_ be a trap. 

And like this, in complete silence and fueled by sheer stubbornness, they keep walking and walking, climbing and climbing. 

Until Soundwave stops. 

Optimus is immediately at his side, reaching to support him, but is cut by a sharp shake of the Cassette Carrier's helm, visor focused on the door in front of them, visible from this side but hidden from the other. 

Servant's entrance to a room that, judging by the voices he can now hear in the silence left by the absence of pede-steps, looks like their destination. 

He can't make out the words, but Prowl's _pissed._

A yelp breaks through the tirade. The Prime tenses, before reminding himself that this in _not their universe,_ and that First Aid is their enemy here. 

He still wants to burst through that door, up until Prowl starts shouting again. 

His trustworthy and ever-efficient Second in Command. 

_How could this Cybertron turn to this?_

He doesn't know. He's not sure he _wants_ to know. 

The shouting stops, and a door swishes closed. 

Soundwave tenses and, deliberately slow, moves closer to the hidden entrance. 

They can hear grumbling in Prowl's voice, and the rhythmic and repetitive pattern of pacing, but no other sounds. 

The two misplaced Cybertronian exchange a look that speaks louder than words. 

_Now?_

But Soundwave tilts his helm, as if listening, and shakes it in a negative, glaring at the door and fisting his usable servo. 

_Not **yet.**_

After a bit more of the grumbling and pacing, it all stops. 

And then, with a clearly audible huff, the pede-steps renew – and grow distant, another door swishing— 

Silence. 

This time, when they turn to the other— 

_Now?_

—the answer is a nod. 

_Now._

The door creaks, almost too loud in the silence, but, when nothing answers from inside the room, they keep pushing until it's open enough for them to slip through – into a room as lavishly decorated as any Noble's was back in the Golden Age. 

It's an office, that much is clear, but, still… 

Knowing how much Prowl, _their Prowl,_ hated those places, it makes Optimus want to purge. 

Or set the place on fire. 

Huh. Not a bad idea. Maybe once they— 

“ _Trap!”_

Something jumps at them from the shadows with an ungodly shriek and, with a shout of his own, Optimus reaches for Soundwave and jerks them _away_ from the beast, from the danger and – the door. 

Starscream, red optics alight in so focused a glare that they look almost white, hisses at them threateningly with his new mandibles in place of jaws, a clawed servo pressing the servants' door tightly closed. 

Soundwave shivers at Optimus' back, but the Prime is too busy looking for the owner of the voice that released that command— 

Who, as confident and elegant as the mech who shares his designation, steps from where he'd been standing next to a closed door, grinning smugly. 

“Welcome back, _Prime._ As predictable as ever,” Prowl purrs, lifting the fusion cannon Starscream stole from their servos to aim it at them. “Let's finish this, shall we?” 

And presses the trigger. 

The cannon's lights brighten, a soft humming fills the room – and, with a puff of smoke, the weapon goes dark. 

Soundwave shivers and bends in half, but, when Optimus spares him an alarmed look, worried his injuries have finally caught up to him, he sees the Decepticon is _laughing._

After a look at Prowl's dumbfounded expression, the Prime can't help but do so too, only more vocally than his companion. 

The Praxian snarls and slaps the malfunctioning cannon, as if that could make it work—which it won't, Frenzy was pretty clear about that. Trembling in rage, he throws the weapon away, servo twisting in a gesture Optimus knows will call forth a functioning one from subspace— 

But he's ready this time, faster even through his mirth. 

“Sorry, Prowl. Wrong mech.” 

His fusion cannon is as much gun-like as the broken one, though smaller and lighter, and so Optimus aims and shoots before the Autobad's optics can do more than pale— 

As he recovers from his ringing audials, recalibrating sight, and the pain in his shoulder and the side of his helm, his only thought is— 

“Ow.” 

Prowl's laughing, that much he can make sense of, but it isn't until he manages to focus on his surroundings again and sit up that he knows _why._

The fusion cannon is smoking some distance away, pierced and bent, and Soundwave, also kneeling on the floor with new dents, is gaping at the guilty party. 

Starscream, standing protectively in front of the twisted Autobad leader, hisses back. 

“No…” 

“Ah, I _definitely_ love these Seekers more and more with every passing joor,” Prowl chuckles, calming down some, as he saunters closer to his 'bodyguard'. “Now, how about we leave the unpleasantness for another time? I have things to discuss with you, offers to make.” 

“Offers?” Optimus questions, carefully getting to his pedes under the reprogrammed Decepticon's piercing glare. 

He has to buy them time. If he reaches for any of his other weapons… Well, better _not_ think about that. 

“Why, of course! You, and your deactivated comrades, are a novelty. One I _like,”_ Prowl purrs, sharp optics and sharper grin sending a shiver down the Prime's back strut. “It took us a bit, but we've finally figured out you aren't mere cheap copies. You are from another world, another _universe._ And, you see, I _am_ a curious mech—” 

“ _No!”_ the Prime exclaims, quickly catching up on what Prowl is getting to. 

After a brief snarl of annoyance, the Doorwinger smooths his faceplate again into twisted delight. 

“ _Yes._ You've seen this Cybertron, and its mechs. There _has_ to be a better world in your universe, regardless of it being mechanical or not. _I want it._ Its resources, to rebuild my world, to expand my power, to _create_ my Empire. You would be pardoned, of course. I am not emberless. And I _will_ need a workforce. I am willing to let you all stay in your pretty little planet, living as you please, as long as you pay your taxes,” he explains, calm and confident and _so impossibly sure_ that Prime can only _fear._

Just what kind of weapon does he have for him to be _so sure?_

And so, Optimus can only think and rethink and spare some glances at a shivering Soundwave, as if an idea would fall out of nowhere. 

But it doesn't. 

So, he stalls some more. 

“Taxes?” he chokes out, disgusted at his pitiful attempt of what should have been confidence, especially when Prowl's smugness only grows. 

“Indeed. For your freedom, for you to _keep functioning,_ you'll have to send workers and resources to rebuild my Cybertron. Oh, and I want more of these delightfully aggressive Seekers. Tell me, do you still have a Thundercracker and Skywarp in that Cybertron of yours? And how about Silverbolt and Fireflight?” he questions, smirk growing wider and crazier the more their faceplates distort in horror and fear as they glance at the stock still Starscream, at his calculating almost white optics and the mandibles distorting his faceplate, and his _obedience,_ and _know_ that's exactly what Prowl's planning for the others. “I want them all, whoever they are, _whatever_ they are. Autobots, Decepticons, I don't care. All Seekers, all _Fliers,_ will be sent to me.” 

And that's that. No chance for a disagreement, for an adjustment. 

That's what Prowl decrees, and that's what will be. 

Optimus can only gape, knowing that his facemask is twitching with the gesture and thus not hiding how his control is slipping away, how much this situation is getting out of hand. 

Their enemy purrs softly, pleased at their reaction, as he smugly stares them down from behind Starscream's protectively flared wings. 

“Good to see you understand. Now, there's just one small detail to take care of. You see, that thing with the fusion cannon really irritated me,” Prowl comments casually, shifting his stance slightly— “And I just need one of you.” 

The gun is out before Optimus can reach for his, charged and aimed – at Soundwave. 

With an audial-splitting shriek of ripped metal, Energon flies. 

_Blue_ Energon. 

Prowl staggers back with a chocked cry, clutching the remains of his servo, as the now broken gun clatters to the floor amidst a spray of life-fluid. Neither Optimus nor Soundwave can break out of their braced and tense stances, nor pick up their fallen jaws. 

Starscream straightens, wings vibrating in what the Prime, after so many vorns of war, can recognize as a threat, as he hisses down menacingly at his 'master'. 

“You—but—How? First Aid installed the program! It was working! How could you—The repairs,” Prowl shrieks, stumbling further away from the irate Seeker, optics paling in dread. “The processor damage, it—it shouldn't—your self-repairs couldn't have dealt with my obedience program! Nothing could have—” 

But his words break with a sharp _snap_ of the Decepticon's mandibles, followed by a snarl that makes the Praxian curl into himself. 

And Optimus realizes his slash with Jazz's dagger, back when the Flier had been sent to hunt Ratchet and him down, did more damage than he thought. 

Apparently, enough that Starscream's own self-repairs managed to overwrite whatever Prowl installed in his processor. 

That's… That's good. That's great! That means— 

With a shriek, Prowl throws himself at Starscream claws first. 

Faster than he can follow, the two of them exchange blows, denting and ripping metal and shedding Energon, and Optimus wastes no time reaching for his gun, and his dagger, and— 

Prowl slams against the wall and slowly slides down, leaving a trail of blue behind himself as a shivering and clumsy servo clutches at slashed neck tubes. 

Slowly turning gray, he meets Optimus' optics to deliver one last scathing glare, one last promise of pain and deactivation, before all light extinguishes from them. 

Stumbling, Soundwave rushes past the frozen Prime's side to fall to his knees next to an already kneeling Starscream, Energon pooling around them both. 

Voice box unresponsive, the Autobot tentatively approaches them, trying to see if there’s something he can do to help… And realizes there isn’t. Optimus can only to watch the Cassette Carrier's futile attempts at pinching closed the ruptured lines in the hole in the Seeker’s cockpit, deep enough to have reached the spark chamber's vital support systems. 

The impossible amount of Energon on the floor is more than proof enough. 

Starscream just observes, not making a move himself to help or stop his fellow Decepticon. Then, slowly, he leans forward to rest his helm on an almost desperate Soundwave's shoulder plate. 

The Communications Officer freezes and, with a last exhale and black optics, Starscream's frame slumps and goes gray. 

Soundwave's Energon-stained servos tremble. 

Optimus takes a moment to just let his fans work, to try and get his motor controls back to full operative status, and, once he's sure he'll be able to move without impediment, he carefully grabs the Cassette Carrier's free shoulder and shakes him gently. 

Soundwave clutches at Starscream's arms, as if unwilling to let go, before, reluctantly, resting the grayed frame on the floor. 

Then, and only then, does he shakily stand. Optimus still has to guide him for the first few kliks as they move back through the servant tunnels, but he eventually takes the lead once more. 

The rest of the way is a blur, as they rush as swiftly and quickly as they can through the ruins of Iacon, always aware of possible hunters and trackers, all the way back to the hidden Decepticon base. 

And there, once the Cassettes and their not-Carrier recover from the shock of seeing each other, is when Optimus finally, _finally,_ lets himself break down.


	6. All Dreams Must End

Damage fixed and tanks full, Optimus walks through the silent and dusty base. Unlike the first time he saw it, though, it feels lighter, _fuller._

It makes no sense, but maybe it's the expectation getting to him, the _hope._

With Prowl gone, Frenzy has decided the Decepticons should get out of hiding again. Ravage is in the communications center, working non-stop to get in contact with other rebel groups. Laserbeak and Ratbat are checking their base, ensuring they will have the power and space to sustain the other Decepticons when they join them. Buzzsaw is standing guard, just in case. 

And Soundwave… 

Optimus enters Megatron's room and gets his answer. 

Despite his voice box having been fixed, the displaced Decepticon doesn't talk much, even less so than usual. His frame, however, has managed to get rid of whatever drug First Aid got in him, and so the Prime feels the buzz of a surface processor scan just before Soundwave turns around to face him. 

“No news?” the Autobot asks softly, and is answered by a shake of the dark blue helm. 

“It'll take time,” Frenzy elaborates from where he's standing by the console, looking at the screen. 

In Megatron's dream, a bunch of mechs are sitting on some bar stools, sharing Energon and chatting without a worry. Optimus assumes Frenzy is trying to get more instructions as to what is going to happen now, but, personally, he doesn't hear anything that isn't small talk. 

… Pit, he misses _his_ Megatron. 

Soundwave huffs softly, and Optimus knows he has been caught. 

“Agreed,” the Decepticon whispers, and the Prime relaxes. 

Yes. They miss Megatron. 

The broken mech in the tank keeps bobbing around, optics still black, and Optimus can't help but deflate. 

This universe's Shockwave is deactivated, and there are no Autobads that would help them get back. Their only hope is that the some of the native Decepticons will be able to put something together. Or, worst case scenario, the displaced mechs help them defeat the Autobads and take their resources. 

Prowl knew they were from a different universe. Maybe he had some studies started that they can use. 

If only he had thought to get them before they hightailed it out of the Tower… 

“What the – Hey!” Frenzy exclaims, bringing him out of his musings, and Optimus turns to see him slap the side of the computer. 

The screen is frizzling, the audio breaking. 

They're losing the signal. They're losing Megatron. 

Spark going cold, Optimus turns around once more, hurrying to a nervous Soundwave's side, as they stare at the remnants of the mech bobbing in the tank, fans frozen— 

And stumbles. 

_What the Pit?_

He reboots his optics, again and again, but his surroundings keep losing color, going grainy. He takes a step to the side, trying to regain his balance as the world swims around him, and catches Soundwave falling to his knees. 

_What's happening? Is it the Autobads? Isn't it over?,_ he asks himself, looking up to try and see if there's something going on, despite his sight going black. 

In the tank, a pair of optics light up and meet his own before Optimus falls into stasis. 

* * *

Something is humming in a constant rhythm by his side, and he almost goes back to recharge before he convinces himself to at least look around. 

So, slowly, feeling drained, Optimus onlines his optics and tries to focus. 

He's received by an orange ceiling. 

_Orange…?_

“Prime! You're online!” 

His battle protocols rush into activation, and Optimus jerks out of bed before he can stop himself, reaching for Jazz's dagger – but it isn't there anymore. 

First Aid squeaks and jumps back, and pede-steps immediately fill the room as a black and white blur runs inside. 

Optimus chokes on his surprised scream, trips over his pedes, and falls to his aft. 

“Prime! Calm down, you're in the _Ark,”_ the newcomer tries to soothe, servos up to show he's unarmed, but Optimus scoots back until he's against the wall, and tries to dial down his fans' activity. 

_Prowl! Of course it had to be Prowl!_

“Hey, what's all that noise? … Whatcha doing down there, Ops?” 

Instead of answering, Optimus lets his jaw drop. 

From where he's leaning against the doorframe, Jazz scratches his helm and gives him a confused look. 

“No, seriously. Did they tell you they were going to call the Hatchet? 'Cause, if so, ease up! He's gone to the rec room to get some Energon,” the saboteur adds, giving him a knowing grin. 

“Ratchet's here too?” Optimus asks, unable to stop himself, before he turns to the two Autobads. 

Only, they are _not_ Autobads. 

Prowl is black and white, and analyzing him with his usual intensity, servos still up. First Aid is white and red, and rubbing his servos nervously as he shifts in place, unsure whether he can approach the Prime safely now. 

They aren't Autobads. 

They're _Autobots._

“Well, duh. He keeps saying he'll go on vacation next time we decide to do something stupid, _without_ fixing us first, but he has yet to do it,” Jazz answers, snickering, and Prowl finally lowers his servos to give him a deadpan look. 

“Really? Why haven't I heard this threat before?” 

“He usually uses it on the twins,” First Aid answers nervously, and Optimus chuckles before he can stop himself. 

“I am glad… But, how did you get us back? And how did _you_ come back?” the Prime asks, standing up despite how tired he feels without the rush of his battle protocols, while looking intently at his formerly deactivated Head of Spec Ops. 

Jazz shrugs one shoulder with a snort. 

“Pit if I know what happened, but it was just a matter of letting the effects of Wheeljack's gun run out. I was the first to online, and, when Ratch came back not too long ago, we realized it depended on who had been touching it the longest,” he explains, unbothered by what Optimus clearly remembers, and looking as if he _doesn't_ remember deactivating at a fake Ironhide's hands. 

“And the Decepticons?” 

“Probably dealing with the same.” 

“But… You _deactivated…”_ Optimus whispers, confused, and Jazz's visor reboots as surprise wipes his smile off his faceplate. 

“I did? Huh. I really don't remember that part. You sure you weren't in a flux, Ops? Ratchet didn't remember anything strange when he woke up.” 

The Prime looks from Jazz to a curious Prowl and a worried First Aid, and, shoulders slumping in relief, shakes his helm with a smile under his battle-mask. 

“You're right. It was probably just a really bizarre dream,” he answers at last, chuckling softly, and gets smiles from his mechs in return. 

“Sounds like an interesting story.” 

“Huh, I-I'm afraid I'm already forgetting it, Prowl. Sorry,” he hurries to stammer with his best convincing tone. 

Judging by the looks his officers exchange, it isn't _that_ convincing. 

“Meh, what can you do? Just sit down, Ops. I'll fetch you a cube while First Aid checks you up and Prowler tells you about all of _our_ interesting adventures in 'How to Live Without a Prime for a Week'!” 

“Thank you, Ja—Wait, did you say _a week?!”_

* * *

At his post at the console, Soundwave observes inconspicuously how Megatron and Starscream fall into another bickering match, plans onscreen forgotten. 

Spyglass sighs tiredly by his side, and, sitting under the machinery as they mess with some motherboards, Frenzy and Rumble take bets. 

Starscream is on a full out rant now, servos flailing as he details every single defect of Megatron's latest idea, while their leader clenches the armrests of his throne almost tight enough to dent, snarling at the Seeker for a bit longer before his patience snaps. 

The Air Commander jerks back when Megatron stands suddenly, reaching towards him, and ends up tripping down the steps, all the way to Soundwave's pedes. 

The Communications Officer smiles behind his mask, and, despite the gesture going unseen, Starscream scowls at him from where he's lying on his back on the ground. 

“What are you laughing at?!” 

“Home, sweet home,” Soundwave answers, putting as much of a sing song tone in the words as his voice modulator allows. 

When the Seeker blinks up at him in confusion, Soundwave chuckles and offers a servo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, was it all a dream? Did it actually happen and those that 'deactivated' merely forgot about it? Feel free to choose whichever option you like best, _I_ know which one I will pick ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not, this one isn't actually my fault. You can blame Nestly's [_Amazing Character Art Mad-Lib_](https://www.deviantart.com/nestly/art/Amazing-Character-Art-Mad-Lib-92820799) for the idea.
> 
> So, there. Have fun (or not).


End file.
